"These are rare," Dusty lied, his voice gravelly. "Museum quality."
By mid-2008, the air had changed. The housing bubble hadn't just popped; it had evaporated, taking the town’s spirit with it. People weren't coming to Busty Dusty’s to buy vintage kitsch anymore. They were coming to sell their lives.
Elena cried. Dusty nodded. As she left, he placed the spoons in the display window, right next to a cracked bust of Apollo.